Lost in Suburbia: The de-stinkifying of Monty Beckerman

Wednesday

I wouldn’t say that I’m nose blind to the smell of my dog, but typically, I don’t realize he needs a bath until the Board of Health shows up and condemns the dog, his bed and our house.

My husband will usually smell him before I do. Maybe it’s because he’s out of the house all day and when he walks in the door, the smell hits him like a basketball to the face.

“Oh wow, the dog!” he said one day when he got home, putting his hand over his nose. “Don’t you smell that?”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted.

“When was the last time he had a bath?” he asked.

“Um, what year is it?”

Once my husband pointed out that our home was starting to smell like a Superfund site, I realized the time had come to de-stinkify him (the dog, not my husband) before the CDC was called in to set up a hot zone around the perimeter of our house. I called to make an appointment at a new groomers I’d heard good things about. But they were booked solid by other people who, no doubt had their own Superfund dogs. I figured waiting a few days wouldn’t make a huge difference since the level of air quality in the house was already at Defcon 5. I made the first available appointment and then sprayed the dog with air freshener for a couple of days until they could get him in.

The first hint I got that the new groomers might not be the right place for us was in the waiting room. The space was wallpapered in a pink and green trellis print with little French bulldogs on it, and there were fuchsia colored bean bag dog beds in the shapes of dog bones spread around the room for the dogs to recline on until their appointments. A bowl of free-range ostrich bites was on the counter, free to all the pampered pups in the room who preferred their ostriches organic.

I looked at my dog who seemed as stunned by the opulence as I was. Apparently, the clientele here was used to a certain level of comfort and cuisine. Then there was my dog. He liked to sleep on bricks and eat dirt.

Not knowing what, exactly, the full-service was, I figured it probably included a wash, vacuum and undercarriage spray, like we got for the car. So, I nodded yes.

“Would you like a rose, eucalyptus or lemon-scented spa bath for Monty?” she continued.

I raised my eyebrows and glanced down at my dog. He had his head between his legs and was busy taking care of his own personal hygiene.

“Um, just regular clean dog scent, if you have it,” I replied.

“We can do a plain cut or a cut, color and curl,” she said. “It’s very popular with the poodles!”

“Just a plain cut, please.”

“We can offer him a special Non-GMO beverage and a light snack between procedures, if you’d like.”

I looked at the dog again. He was chewing on his foot.

“That’s okay. Just some plain water for him will do.”

“Okey dokey,” she said cheerfully. “We do ask you to pay in advance. That will be $175.”

“WHAT?” I exclaimed. “And that’s without all the extra stuff?”

She nodded.

“Here,” I said handing her the dog’s leash. “You keep the dirty dog. I’m going to go out and adopt a clean one.”For more Lost in Suburbia, follow Tracy on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage and on Twitter at @TracyBeckerman.